


the leftover you

by AugustaByron



Series: samwell ladies' figure skating [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Light Angst, Queer Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The legend of Jackie Zimmermann, princess of figure skating, and Kate Parson, small town prodigy, was mostly exaggerated. </p>
<p>(EpiKegster Samwell Ladies' Figure Skating style)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the leftover you

**Author's Note:**

> I'm messing with timelines a bit! This is set in February of 2013, Bittle's freshman season, about a year before the Sochi Olympics, meaning EpiKegster happens a year earlier than in canon. Consequently, some dialogue is lifted directly from the Parse arc. 
> 
> Technically second in the Samwell Ladies' Figure Skating 'verse, but just know that the team is now a cisgender women's figure skating team, except Shitty, who is still Shitty. 
> 
> Warnings: References to overdose, description of anxiety, Kent (Kate) Parson. 
> 
> Title from Tegan and Sara, because lesbians.

The Samwell Ladies' Figure Skating Team dominates at their second competition, which is the only reason Jackie gives in on the party issue.

“Brah. You've got to throw a rager, you guys crushed it,” says Shitty, Larissa's not-boyfriend and ostensible team manager. He used to be a hockey player before he tore his Achilles, and it shows in how he talks. Jackie doesn't really mind. It's kind of nice, in a way. He's straightforward.

“I think Larissa's already making jungle juice.” Which basically means that Jackie has lost any thin control she had over the situation. She restrains the urge to sigh. “Just don't invite too many people, eh?”

“That's not how parties work,” Larissa says. She's got her short hair spiked up, and she's wearing eyeliner. “Basically the whole campus is coming. You can hide in your room if you want, but I don't recommend it.”

“Lardo, you beautiful fucker,” Shitty says. He picks Larissa up and spins her around. Larissa rolls her eyes, but she's grinning. “Did you make that nuclear punch I love?”

“You know it. Jackie, you're allowed to chill for a second. We're basically guaranteed a spot in the championships after that showing.” Larissa frowns at Jackie. “Seriously, we all deserve to relax a little.”

“EpiKegster 2013!” Shitty bellows, apropos of nothing. Larissa giggles, and that's when Jackie officially knows it's pointless to argue. If it makes her best friend happy, she's a sucker.

 

The Haus fills up with more people than Jackie's ever seen in it. It's not that the skate team doesn't have people over, but usually not this many. She's about to retreat to her room when Erica finds her.

“You can't seriously be about to hide away, Jackie!” Erica chirps at her. She's holding a Solo cup full of Larissa's punch, and she's already a little flushed. “This is a party! Your party!”

“It's the team's party,” Jackie says automatically. They all earned this. Skating competitions don't rise and fall on the performance of just one team member. Everyone has to put in a good showing. Erica was good.

“Oh, please. Lord knows that you can skate circles around the rest of us,” Erica says. She flaps her free hand, like she's batting away gnats. Or maybe the idea of this not being Jackie's party.

“I'll stay if you keep me company,” Jackie blurts out. Erica beams at her, uncomplicated and beautiful.

“Of course I will! I can't leave you all alone to be a wallflower.” Erica settles against the wall next to Jackie, the warmth of her familiar. They've been practicing in Faber, early in the morning, Jackie coaching Erica through jumps and spins. It paid off at the competition yesterday. There was no trace of hockey in the way Erica skated.

“Well,” Jackie says, heart beating. It's warm in the Haus with all the people crowding in. “Maybe we should commemorate it with a selfie. You know--Erica's first victory party.”

“Shitty keeps calling it an EpiKegster,” Erica says, amused, but she pulls out her phone and crowds close. Jackie's debating whether or not to put her arm around Erica when a familiar voice freezes her down to her bones.

“I wouldn't believe it if I weren't seeing it myself. Jackie Zimmermann. At a party. Taking a selfie.”

Jackie looks over slowly, and there she is, wearing a smirk and self assurance. Distantly, she hears Erica gasp, excited.

“Kate.” That's all there is to say.

“Hey, Jack.” And after all these years, Kate's still the only one who's ever called her that. “Didja miss me?”

 

The legend of Jackie Zimmermann, princess of figure skating, and Kate Parson, small town prodigy, was mostly exaggerated. The media painted them as rivals, and it didn't help that they shared a coach. Jackie and Kate lived out of each other's pockets for years, sharing secrets and chapstick and breath.

And then Jackie fucked it all up, and Kate—didn't. She's maybe the most famous figure skater in the world. Two gold medals and most likely another, after Sochi.

Jackie leads Kate up to her room, ignores Kate's chatter about being in town for a competition, and wanting to swing by and say hello.

“I didn't know you were having a party,” Kate says. “I figured you'd be at home, though.”

Of course. Because Jackie never went out unless Kate dragged her, back when they were kids.

“Well, here I am.” It sounds flat, even to her own ears. Kate frowns at her, tugs on her perfect ponytail until it comes loose.

Erica's hair is a shade or two darker than Kate's, honey to ice.

“I wanted to ask,” Kate says, and then pauses. She goes to Jackie's mirror and digs a tube of lipstick out of her purse. Jackie watches her apply it and tries to breathe through this. A thousand nights of Kate putting on lipstick. Jackie's hand almost twitches, expecting Kate to hand the tube over when she's done. It was easier to wear the same shade, so nobody noticed one of them stained a different color later.

“What do you want, Kate?” Jackie is tired, so tired.

“What are you doing next year?” Kate asks, finally, looking at Jackie's reflection in the mirror instead of straight at her. “Are you training for the Olympics or what?”

Jackie's heart starts pounding, her palms start sweating. “I have another year of school.”

“Take it off,” Kate says, firmly. She turns around, then. “Jesus Christ, Jack, it's the Olympics! You'll be too old next time.”

“I don't know.” Jackie closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them this is still happening. Kate has her arms crossed, and she's scowling.

“What's there not to know? Take a year off, train, qualify, come to Sochi with me.” Like they wouldn't be representing different countries anyway. Like it's all about Kate, instead of about Jackie. The last time she was in the solo competition circuit--

Kate's the one who found her in the bathroom, after. She called the ambulance and cried until they let her sit with Jackie in the hospital room, waiting for her parents.

Jackie doesn't want to go back to that. She barely survived the first time.

“What are you going to do instead? Go coach second graders? Get a job in an office somewhere? I mean, seriously, Jack! This is it!” Kate takes a step closer to Jackie, and Jackie takes a step back. She doesn't want to consider the look that flashes across Kate's face: hurt, pity, anger. Too much.

“Katie,” Jackie says, helplessly. “Katie, I can't do this.”

“Come on, Jackie,” Kate says. “What are you going to do? You're not even going to try?”

“Katie.” Jackie is aware she's getting louder, she can hear it. That and the way her voice is shaking. Kate takes the other two steps separating them, grabs Jackie's shoulders.

“Jack, just stop overthinking and listen to me. My coach will take you, I already made sure. You can be done with this shitty college team and start really skating again.” Kate's breath is warm against Jackie's face. It used to be something Jackie wanted all the time, Kate this close, the ends of Kate's hair brushing over Jackie's skin.

But now--

“You should leave,” Jackie says, gulping in air. She takes a step backwards, and Kate lets her go, hands falling loosely by her sides. She looks like someone took a medal out from under her nose.

“Come on, Jack,” Kate says, coaxing. “You're better than this.”

“Get out. You can't show up like this and insult my team.” Larissa and Abby and Justine. Erica. It's not okay. Kate got everything they wanted, and Jackie got this, and she's not sure she'd make the trade anymore. “What do you want, anyway? You want me to come skate against you? I didn't think you'd want the competition.”

“None of it means anything!” Kate snaps, just as loud as Jackie. “None of it means anything, okay? Not without you. Who cares about anything I've done? They'll always say, well, she won it because Jackie Zimmermann flamed out.”

“Nobody fucking says that,” Jackie says. She slumps onto her bed. It feels like all the air's gone out of her, and she whispers, “Is that really it?” to the comforter. She and Larissa picked it out. It's purple and covered in white flowers, soft and warm. She twists her fingers around a handful of it, grounding herself.

“I miss you,” Kate says. Her jaw is clenched the way it would be when she was watching over skaters, getting into the zone during competitions. “Does that matter more to you? That I fucking miss you all the time? That I want to go back to how it was?”

No. Jackie is surprised to find out that it doesn't matter more.

“I think you should go.” Jackie manages to get her legs underneath her, and goes to open the door. Kate's mouth is a thin line.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. Stay here. I'll go get my third gold, same as your mom.” She puts her hair back up into her signature ponytail, smooth as can be. Jackie can never do that without a brush.

Jackie opens the door and gapes down. Erica is kneeling there, reaching out for a key that's on the ground. She looks up, startled, dismayed, too knowing. How much did she hear?

“Um.” Kate steps around Erica like she's nothing, like she doesn't deserve attention. Then Kate says, not bothering to look back, “Call me if you reconsider, Jack. Offer's open.”

She saunters off down the hall, ponytail bobbing as she walks.

“Jackie,” Erica says, but Jackie can't. She just—can't.

She goes in her room and shuts the door.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to Shizuka Arakawa and Kim Yuna, actual gold medalists at Turin and Vancouver (respectively).


End file.
